


Mighty Mighty English

by whetherwoman



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:ancarett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whetherwoman/pseuds/whetherwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Edward considers mud, battle tactics, and what makes a knight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mighty Mighty English

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for historical inaccuracies, both purposeful and accidental. The story is accurate as far as Edward winning the Battle of Poitiers with an army much smaller than the French, which I think is pretty cool.
> 
> Big, big thanks to chelseafrew and inthewall for doing a lovely last minute beta job. Shusu was a huge help with the title, and everyone in the #yuletide IRC channel is wonderful and inspiring. Including the menservents!

Edward, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Black Prince of Wales and heir to the throne of England, knelt in the mud. Impatiently swiping at the cold rain dripping down the side of his face, he peered through the bushes and down the hill at his enemy. His lips pressed together tightly as he watched.

"There, my lord, and there," Jean de Grailly breathed in his ear, pointing at two areas of great activity. "The French are numerous, as are their horses, which are the greater problem."

"Yes, I see," Edward murmured. "They have kept an entire company of knights mounted. This will take some work. Come." He began wriggling quietly backwards out of the bushes, Jean following him.

Even once they were far out of earshot, the two men remained silent as they walked back to camp. Edward lost himself in thought, trusting Jean to get them both back safely. He murmured, almost to himself, "I do not consider myself inexperienced by any means, nor anything near a coward, yet I am not confident of this battle." He shot a look at Jean. "This is for your ears only, my friend, but we both know our luck has taken a bad turn in the last few weeks." Jean nodded silently, mouth tight. "Now our small force is being stalked by that French son of a hamster John, my best knights take any excuse to leave for the joust in London, and this rain! Mud everywhere—" He raised his voice as they entered the camp and caught a soldier unawares. "Mud on your _sword_ , sir, get that off your sword at once!"

"Be easy, my lord," Jean said, gripping Edward's shoulder and steering him away from the petrified soldier and towards the ornate tent in the center of the camp. "We are all on edge now."

"He wouldn't have lasted a minute at Crécy, I tell you." Edward glared back over his shoulder at the man, but held himself back from further outbursts until they reached the tent. Once inside, he let his coat drop to the dirt floor with a sigh and sat down heavily. Jean sat opposite him and watched him stare moodily at the floor, knowing better than to interrupt Edward from a mood like this.

"Damn Adhemar anyway!" Edward finally burst out, standing up to pace. "Giving me no choice but to dismiss him like that. A cowardly, cringing thing to do. And for a joust! For the chance to fight some upstart knight when there are Frenchmen right here!"

"For a joust?" Jean said, confused. "He did not ask to leave, he was pillaging and acting beyond the bounds of knightly behavior—"

"Yes, yes, yes." Edward waved the question away. "He said his dog ate his orders. His dog! Might as well say it ate his morals. I know his motivation," he said, turning to Jean. "He is obsessed with this year's dark horse at the joust, a Sir Ulrich. I know what information is delivered into my camp, and Adhemar received news of the joust just before his insane rampage. Damn Adhemar anyway," Edward said again, quieter this time, and sat down. "What I would give for a dozen Ulrich's. No battle experience, I am sure, but what spirit."

Jean nodded understandingly. "Spirit is what we need most now, my lord. But not this second." He stood. "The French army will not attack for at least two days, so rest now. There will be plenty of time to plan tomorrow." He bowed and let himself out, leaving Edward to stare gloomily at the floor again.

* * *

Six thousand soldiers were in no way comparable to a French army of twenty thousand, except in noise. By dawn everyone was up, eating, and training. Edward took the opportunity to walk with his commanders, assess what his army was capable of after weeks of retreat and rain, and, hopefully, spread a little inspiration. Indeed, whispers of his presence swelled as they walked, and Edward had to suppress a grin on a few occasions at the rapidity with which broken and dirty weapons disappeared.

Everywhere men were running, jumping, yelling war cries and glancing at Edward and his entourage out of the corners of their eyes. In the distance, Edward heard a chant of "We are the English, the mighty mighty English, everywhere we go, people wanna know who we are, so we tell them..."

"Perhaps it would be better to retreat if we can, my lord," William, Earl of Salisbury said, distracting Edward from his amusement. "We will be better able to face the French with the Duke of Lancaster at our back."

"Mm," said Edward. "And you, Thomas? What do you think?"

"By no means should we turn tail now," said Thomas, Earl of Warwick. His grizzled beard glinted in the morning sun. "The tactics we used at Crécy to great success will work just as well now. I would take an English archer over ten French cavalry any day."

"Mm," Edward said again. He tried not to sigh, and privately wondered what the use of advisors that always contradicted each other really was. Looking around at his army, he thought about the upcoming battle, at this point unavoidable. Risking himself in the jousting arena was one thing—but these men had entrusted him with their lives and the safety of their families.

"My lords!" one soldier said, running up and kneeling. "A messenger with news from London!" To the left, a growing commotion followed the messenger as he made his way through camp. As he approached Edward and his companions, the noise quieted down and Edward suppressed a smile. After a long campaign like this, no one wanted to miss a scrap of news from home. He gestured for the messenger to speak loudly, and the man bowed in return, grinning.

"From London!" the messenger proclaimed, loud enough to be heard by half the camp. "News of the court, the city, and..." He paused for effect. "The joust! The world championship is unknown as yet, due to a falsehood perpetrated upon the world by the so-called Sir Ulrich of Lichtenstein." Edward frowned. So-called? Funny, he had been thinking of the man just the previous day.

The messenger continued. "This supposed knight was not of noble blood at all, but was born William Thatcher. Thanks to the investigations of Count Adhemar, his ruse has been discovered and he has been thrown in prison. At the court, the ladies of..."

The messenger's voice faded in Edward's ears. Ulrich, son of a thatcher? To have shown such bravery and honor in the joust, with no noble blood at all, was unheard of. How had he gotten the skill, the training? Not to mention the armor and horse.

Edward's thoughts began to whirl. Maybe... maybe, if the son of a thatcher could compete in the lists and win with honor and dignity, today, this small army could do the same. "Enough!" he said, cutting off the messenger with a wave. "Into my tent, my lords. We have much to discuss and plan, for tomorrow we fight!"

Amid the roar of approval from the soldiers, Edward smiled. And maybe, if his army won the day, back in London something could be done about this thatcher.

* * *

Edward pulled his hood a little further down over his face, hiding his identity for the moment. The crowd around him jeered loudly, all their attention focused on the man in the stocks in front of them. Edward considered the man, blond hair flopping into his eyes, obviously tired and in pain but the spark still in his eyes.

The aches were just starting to seep out of Edward's bones. The Battle of Poitiers could not have gone better, and with King John and his son both in England's custody, Edward's thoughts had turned back to his brave inspiration.

To free him from the stocks would be a moment's work. Even to set him up in a house somewhere with his father wouldn't be difficult. Edward could even set him as a vassal to some knight, once the scandal died down, and William could be near his beloved jousts.

But even that... Edward could not see the boy as happy or satisfied in that role. Yet being a knight required more than raw bravery or a steady hand on the lance. The knights Edward wanted to see in his future kingdom were both brave and kind, with a steady hand on the lance and with the law. A knight would be the commander of men, and what had this thatcher done to show any ability in that?

But then one of William's companions stepped up beside the stocks, cudgel in hand and glaring meaningfully at the crowd. Another stepped up, and a third, and the fourth. Edward watched as they stood their ground against the jeers and rotten vegetables, their bodies oriented towards William as if he was the center of their world.

Edward started to smile. This, then, was his new world. Infantry defeating cavalry, a man commanding respect even in the stocks, the stars changed in their courses. And maybe, just maybe this peasant, born of a thatcher, could become not only the best man in Edward's kingdom, but the best knight.

Edward stepped forward and threw back his hood.

   
Read [posted comments](http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/archive/40/mightymighty_cmt.html).  



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